Infinite Imprisonment

Lately, Sion Lagrange had been skipping her return to the dormitory far too often. Even when she did come back, it was barely in time for curfew, nothing more. For the most part, she spent her time outside, slipping in during the early morning hours without drawing the dorm supervisor's attention.

Of course, with the academy's rules mandating surprise inspections two or three times a week at minimum, she couldn't keep this up forever without facing expulsion. And once that happened, the news would spread publicly across the bulletin boards and beyond, tarnishing both her own reputation and her family's honor. She shouldn't be taking such risks.

But Sion had no choice.

Ever since the Inspection Corps was established, the sneers and persecution she once endured had vanished like yesterday's trash. Now, she was dragged to balls she'd previously ignored, as if none of it had ever happened. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Her days were consumed by the academy schedule, her nights by networking with the capital's nobility. The only time she could carve out was...

Dawn. Precisely then.

...Why did she need the time? Simple. To get one step closer to her revered professor and uncle, Joseph.

She hadn't forgotten that "day." The scene she'd witnessed was too shocking to erase. Even now, closing her eyes brought back the image of her uncle wandering the battlefield in a coma-like trance... his more essential self flickering before her.

If it were anyone else, she might have dismissed it as a weakness and laughed it off, or smirked at the unsightly display. But not him. Among everyone she knew, he was the strongest, the most captivating. He was the man who'd granted her countless favors. His suffering wasn't something she could accept lightly.

So why did he drink every day? Why couldn't he quit smoking? Why did he turn into such a sorrowful figure when alone?

Sion had to investigate.

Of course I do. That's who I am. I have to be the sole understanding soul for my one true confidant, my uncle.

And unexpectedly, there was someone whose goals aligned with hers: Alrun Orlan.

One day, during a break, Sion approached Alrun, who was diligently studying at the back of the classroom, and said abruptly,

"Alrun, I've given it some thought."

"—Miss Lagrange?"

"It seems to me you've forged a bit of a connection with our uncle. Since he hasn't rejected you, I've decided to hold off on reproaching your family for the grave sins they've committed against him—for now."

"Th-thank you..."

Naturally, hearing such an out-of-the-blue declaration left her flustered at first.

"So, let me ask you this: Don't you want to know why Professor Joseph ended up in that state?"

At those words, Alrun paled and stammered,

"W-well, obviously... He's a kind-hearted man who went through war. It's only natural ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he'd be wounded, isn't it...?"

"Tch. That's just the surface. But I doubt his inner turmoil follows such a clichéd pattern."

"...You plan to uncover it?"

"Exactly. Or rather, it's only proper that we figure out what's going on."

In truth, this was akin to prying into someone's wounds, so Alrun had long considered abandoning the idea. Trembling slightly, she replied,

"B-but... wouldn't that be disrespectful to the professor?"

But Sion's resolve was ironclad, her voice firm.

"—Don't talk nonsense. How much do you even know to act so feeble?"

"Eh."

"You saw it too. That wasn't human. If we leave him like this, it'll fester and rot for sure."

"........."

"We even have a precedent. A wound that festered, a person locked in solitary confinement. Doesn't that remind you of someone, Miss Alrun?"

"M-me...?"

"Sharp as ever. If Uncle hadn't taken me along to find you at the start of the semester, what do you think would've become of you by now?"

Obviously...

.........

So Alrun was swayed. With even Sion—who arguably shared the most intimate bond with Joseph—stepping forward like this, she couldn't help but resolve to venture one step further into his forbidden territory.

Sion noticed the flicker in her eyes and, without looking back, commanded,

"So here's the plan. I won't return at dawn anymore."

"...What will you do during those dawn hours?"

"Obviously. I'll scour every corner of the Imperial Library outside the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠academy or the Lagrange family archives to uncover the root of Uncle's wounds."

"...And my role is to cooperate from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shadows, making sure the professor doesn't find out."

At those words, Sion narrowed her eyes.

Huh. Look at that. I've sensed it before, but she's quicker on the uptake than I thought.

...Hmph.

"What exactly can you do to help?"

"Since you won't be back at dawn, if the dorm supervisor does a surprise patrol or roll call... I'll handle it somehow."

"Hitting exactly what I needed. Heh."

Shff—

She unfurled her fan.

"Feels like I've gained an army of thousands."

"Don't put too much faith in me. I'm just one person, and a sickly horse at that."

"Whatever."

In any case, it was a bizarre alliance: the daughters of the house that owed Joseph a debt of gratitude and the house that had wronged him, now conspiring together.

Even so, Alrun was quick-witted and capable, effectively shielding Sion from the dorm supervisor's eyes every time.

And true to her word, Sion threw herself into the task relentlessly.

"Miss Sion, do you have business after classes?"

"Yes. I have an important matter to attend to, so I'll be out all day."

Even skipping her beloved uncle's club lessons.

Well, perhaps...

—Perhaps asking her father, Lord Laval, would be the easiest path. But Sion consciously rejected that route.

The reason was simple, if embarrassing: the moment she probed into Uncle, her father would worry about her. And that would expose her feelings for Joseph to him.

She couldn't allow that yet. This was the right way, or so she believed.

"I'd like to request viewing and borrowing privileges."

"Welcome. Your Grace, Lady Lagrange."

As expected for a duke's daughter, Sion could access nearly every door in the Imperial Library. But the path wasn't smooth from the start.

Flip. Flip flip—

"...Infuriating. How can every report wrap Father and Uncle in heroic victories and glittering exploits? If things had truly gone that way, Uncle wouldn't be suffering like this."

However, after a few days of digging through the stacks, Sion pulled out more books, skipping over the epic hero narratives to pinpoint the facts.

"The operation Uncle commanded..."

It was a great victory, but the exchange rate was brutal. And well it should be. Would anyone challenge that hell three times if it weren't? Turning a suicidal assault into survival and triumph was a miracle in itself.

But beyond the 541 KIA tally: 312 MIA.

Sion knew what that meant. They hadn't even recovered the bodies.

And in a footnote from one document, Sion delved deeper—into the essence. Into the man's grueling struggles that had bought her own peaceful childhood.

A battle where 42 out of 100 suffered irreversible mental collapse. And Uncle had endured such horrors since age twelve?

Twelve. The age when she began sword training at her father's side. When she first attended a ball, fumbling through dances while clutching a fan.

At that age, Uncle was on the battlefield. No wonder he'd ended up like this.

...Yes, that's it. Just as Alrun and I suspected.

But Sion didn't linger on sentiment. This was merely the starting point, something even Alrun had grasped early on.

So she calmly sorted her emotions and pressed on, driven by the mounting pressure that there was more to find.

Maybe it was her imagination. Maybe she alone felt it.

But that day at the Professor's Residence, when she and Alrun struggled to carry her drunken, collapsed uncle... the moment she touched his back.

Something cold. No, something writhing beneath his skin, devouring him from within. A repulsive dissonance.

She'd brushed it off amid the alcohol stench and panic at the time. But the more she reflected, the less she could forget.

How could such a thing lurk in her gentle uncle's depths? Impossible.

So Sion searched. And today, she finally reached it.

The document was worn and frayed, written in archaic Imperial script long out of use. But Sion could read it.

And just from the title, her mind reeled.

Demon King Slayer.

—A tome from centuries ago, bearing Uncle's epithet. The secret might lie here.

The moment she turned the page...

"...Eh?"

Sion stared in stunned disbelief, her face draining of color.